


24 Days of a Holmesian Holiday - a fanfic Advent calender

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [11]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Fluff, Humor, It's THAT time of the year again and everyone is going insane, M/M, Mycroft really hates Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 13,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: Mycroft doesn't care for Christmas. It's sentimental and stupid and messes with his schedule. No one else seems to agree though. And this year the whole world seems to conspire against him.





	1. December 1st - Advent crown

**Author's Note:**

> I did this years ago in another fandom and had a lot of fun - stressed out OMG the schedule fun - but fun nonetheless. So expect a little chapter each day until Christmas Eve :)

It was December 1st, a completely normal Thursday as far as Mycroft Holmes was concerned - that is, until he got up and made his way into the kitchen.

 

“What is that?”

 

“It’s an advent crown. I know we’re technically a bit late but I only found the time to get one yesterday.” Gregory smiled.

 

“You bought an advent crown?” Mycroft blinked. The whole situation of the wreath on his kitchen table with one lit candle was so terribly absurd.

 

“Well, I don’t have the time to make one myself - also I think I left that age behind when I grew out of watching Blue Peter. But yeah, you can buy them.” Greg grinned, obviously foolishly happy about something. “Coffee’s on the counter.”

 

After blinking once more Mycroft turned and poured himself a cup of the strong black liquid, as well as starting the toaster.

 

“You know that thing is an inferno waiting to happen.” He stated as he sat down trying to arrange the paper in a way that he wouldn’t have to see the silly thing, nor sat the Times on fire.

 

“It’s completely fresh, you grouch, and I don’t plan on letting the candle burn without supervision.”

 

“Also candles eat up the oxygen in the room. All that thing does is making you sleepy and drowsy.”

 

“Actually no - it makes me go all warm and fuzzy and nostalgic.” Greg still wouldn’t turn off the stupidly happy smile.

 

“Like I said, sleepy and drowsy and your brain stops to work properly.”

 

Now Greg looked almost hurt. “I happen to like candlelight.”

 

“I happen to hate it.” Greg raised a knowing eyebrow. “Except in very special and well defined circumstances, like a dinner for two for example. But candles should be held by discrete and elegant silver, not evergreen weeds.”

 

“Well, these evergreen weeds, as you so eloquently called them, happen to fit the festive mood of the season. So I guess you have to live with them.”

 

“Isn’t it bad enough that I get bombarded by that nonsense outside all the time? Do I really need to deal with it in my own kitchen?”

 

Greg’s face hardened. “ _Our_ kitchen, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft cringed at the use of the two-syllable version of his name out of Gregory’s mouth. “Of course, please accept my humblest apology.”

 

Greg didn’t look totally satisfied. “Accepted. But the wreath stays.”

 

“As you wish, most-beloved.”


	2. December 2nd - Mrs Hudson

On Friday, December 2nd, Mycroft dropped in on Baker Street. Sherlock wasn’t there and he knew that but his terribly annoying little brother had stolen something important on his last visit. It would be easiest getting the small volume back from his flat while he wasn’t there to interrupt. Mycroft had no doubt that he would easily find Sherlock’s hiding place. His brother had always been a bit obvious in that regard.

 

What he didn’t expect was running into the landlady. According to his information, she should have been out at this time.

 

“Mycroft!”

 

“Mrs. Hudson.” He forced a polite little smile on his face. He didn’t mind the woman too much. She did care for Sherlock after all. But he really had counted on being on his own right now.

 

“Sherlock isn’t in. But you can wait upstairs if you like.”

 

Seeing the colourful lights that decorated the staircase and hallway, Mycroft couldn’t flee upstairs quickly enough. “I will let myself in, thanks.”

 

Sherlock’s flat was blissfully unseasonal, as chaotic and individualistic a dump as it had always been. Mycroft stood in the middle of what, for a lack of better word, had to be called the living room studying the room, taking in all the little clues and hints of Sherlock’s regular movements, figuring out where to best look for his little book.

 

“Mycroft, why are you standing around like that? You should sit down. Here have some tea and some biscuits.”

 

His reaction was perfectly polite if forced. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” He sat down on the edge of Sherlock’s arm chair, convinced it held all the bacteria in the world. A look at the biscuits and his nose told him the inevitable.

 

“It’s a special Christmas blend with cinnamon - I hope you like it, I always like to get into the spirit of things, especially when baking.”

 

The little things were star shaped and Christmas tree shaped and shooting star shaped. And they smelled of cardamom, vanilla, and orange. “I can see you are already well within the festive spirit.”

 

“Oh it’s only three weeks, I have to get my baking going. How else would I manage to get biscuits for the neighbours, and my doctor and her nurses, and Assim down at the shops? Especially since your brother always eats half of them before I have them properly packed.”

 

“I can imagine that he does. Sherlock not only always had a sweet tooth, he also is terribly fond of forbidden fruit.” There, suddenly Mycroft spotted what he had been looking for. Completely ignoring Mrs. Hudson friendly and terribly inane chatter, he got up and walked over to the shelf, opening a hidden compartment with absolute certainty and ease, taking out the book he’d come for, ignoring the rest of the contents.

 

“Aren’t you going to close that?”

 

“”Why would I want to, Mrs. Hudson? Sherlock is more than welcome to see right away that I came and took back what is mine.”

 

“Oh you boys and your silly tiffs. Couldn’t you at least stop for the season?”

 

Mycroft’s expression soured. “Hardly.” He left without saying as much as goodbye, ignoring the landlady’s seasonal farewell.


	3. December 3rd - A Christmas Card

On Saturday, December 3rd, Mycroft opened the mail only to find an honest to god Christmas card included. The sender on the envelope was one O. McIntyre from Liverpool.

Mycroft didn’t get Christmas cards, besides the standardised one from his doctor and dentist. Everyone who knew him knew he hated Christmas.

 

He stared at the card. At least it had neither glitter nor stars nor overly jolly fat old man. But still. 

 

**(Ho)³**

 

He dreaded opening the thing. One of the few things he abhorred more than cheap puns was Christmas and Oliver had chosen to combine the two.

 

Gregory looked up from his book seeing him watching the card like a snake ready to bite.

 

“A card? Who’s it from?”

 

“Oliver - it’s addressed to both of us actually, so if you want to read first.”

 

“I hardly met him - outside from work. I’m sure he’s more to say to you, My.” Greg returned to his book, completely ignoring him.

 

When Mycroft opened the card he found a text written in the neat cursive he still remembered well.

 

_ Hello Mycroft, Hello Inspector, _

 

_ I wonder how long you took until you opened the card, Myc. I bet you stared at the cover for at least thirty seconds in disbelief before opening it. I know you hate puns but I couldn’t resist. Well, at least it’s math, right? And not overly schmaltzy, so that should get me some points. I know it’s early but I’m going on a promo tour for the next book to the States soon, so I had to do my Christmas cards early this year. It’s the season of love and family and quiet contemplation, so here we go. _

_ Despite the circumstances I loved seeing you again this year and I’m glad that we exchanged contact info. I’m very happy that you finally found someone and that you and your Gregory are so obviously good for each other. I never told you that but what we had back then did a great deal to turn me into the man I am today and I can only hope that Greg Lestrade will make you as happy as you made me. And the same goes for you of course, Inspector, I hope Mycroft makes you as happy as you deserve to be. The world is a cold and scary place and no one should have to go through it alone. _

 

_ I really wish all the best for you two for the remainder of this year as well as the next and many more to come. _

 

_ Happy Christmas _

 

_ Oliver” _

 

Mycroft shook his head. This level of sentimentality was something he could easily do without.

 

After reading the card, Gregory of course insisted on putting it on display on the mantle of the fireplace, claiming it was just the first.

 


	4. December 4th - Mummy calls

On Sunday, December 4th, Greg had moved the advent crown to the living room and had lit the second candle.

 

Mycroft tried to spend the day mostly in his study.

 

“My? MYYY-CROFT!”

 

Why in the name of all that was holy did Gregory insist on shouting his name on such an infernal level of loudness?

 

He got up and went out into the hallway only to see Greg on the landline. “Sorry, Violet, something seems to be the matter with the extension in his study.” His lover turned towards him. “It’s your Mum.”

 

Mycroft sighed and went over to the phone, still permanently installed on a small table that only existed for the whole purpose of giving a place for the ancient apparatus. This phone was the exact same it had been when Mycroft first moved in over twenty years ago. And even then it had been an antique. Usually it served little to no actual purpose as it didn’t allow the person on the phone to move more than a few feet in every direction and the hallway had no opportunity to take a comfortable seat anywhere. It was more of an interior decorative statement. And of course a backup for cases such as this when the extension in his study failed.

 

“Hello Mummy.”

 

“Mycroft, finally. I thought you hadn’t heard Greg calling for you.”

 

He had a slightly difficult time concentrating on her words as Gregory chose that exact moment to tease him by gently squeezing his backside through his trouser bottoms. 

 

“I could hardly not have heard him, Mummy. I’m sure Sherlock heard him down at Baker Street considering the volume.” He raised an eyebrow at Greg who just grinned without any signs of a bad conscience and kissed the back of his neck before leaving for the living room.

 

“Mycroft, you should really stop being so critical all the time. Don’t you know how lucky you are to have found someone? Especially someone like Greg.”

 

“I can assure you, mother, that I am very well aware of my luck and that I duly appreciate Gregory and all his many, many strong points. But I doubt you called just to remind me to be adequately in awe of my luck.”

 

“Of course not, don’t be silly, Myc. I called about Christmas.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t quite suppress the groan escaping him.

 

“Now don’t you dare start complaining. Christmas is about family and I expect you and Gregory to come and visit just like Sherlock and his friends.”

 

“We never do this, Mummy.”

 

“We did last year.”

 

“When Sherlock drugged everyone and stole my laptop, you mean?”

 

“It was still nice to have everyone here. And you hid Gregory from us back then. You owe us a real family Christmas dinner. And I’m sure Greg will have a lovely time.”

 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. This was what his life was coming to. He used to have everyone accept the fact that he didn’t ‘do’ Christmas - or any of those idiotic, forced celebrations of sentimentality. But now, with Sherlock finally getting something akin to housebroken thanks to John Watson, and after missing him for two years, and with Gregory an undeniable part of his life suddenly all the rules seemed off.

 

“Why does this time of year have to suppress any resemblance of common sense even with otherwise moderately intelligent people?”

 

“Mycroft Reginald Siger Holmes, stop your moaning this instance. It’s Christmas time and you will enjoy time with your family.”

 

He sighed. “Yes, Mummy.”

 

“And you will tell your brother that he’s expected too.”

 

“Of course, Mummy.”

 

“Good, I’ll see you and Greg on Christmas Eve and you can stay until Boxing Day. I would say leave that dreaded laptop behind but I know when a fight is hopeless.”


	5. December 5th - Singing Santa Claus Toys

On Monday, December 5th, Mycroft spent a relatively peaceful day at his office. The only fly in the ointment was his driver for the day. His regular driver, who knew him, had the day off for a family emergency and the replacement started the radio. In Mycroft Holmes’ opinion “Last Christmas” should be outlawed to be played anywhere on planet Earth, let alone anywhere in his hearing range. He had to listen to two bars of Wham!; his driver had to listen to a very in-depth analysis why starting the radio when driving anyone was extremely unprofessional for the rest of the drive.

 

So when he came home and found a small battery powered Santa Claus in the hallway that started playing some American carol when he closed the door, he wasn’t in the best of moods.

 

“Gregory?!”

 

Lestrade’s grinning head popped out of the kitchen where he was obviously preparing their evening meal.

 

“Yes, My?”

 

“What is THIS abomination?”

 

“A gift from Sally.”

 

“Donovan?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“I know she hates my whole family but I wouldn’t have thought she’d steep this low.”

 

“Oh come on, My, it’s fun.”

 

“Fun?” Mycroft was feeling a nervous breakdown quickly approaching.

 

“Yeah, don’t you recognise the tune?”

 

“I would hardly call that electronical nightmare a tune. It sounds vaguely American.”

 

“Santa Claus is coming to town.”

 

Mycroft’s face was still absolutely blank.

 

Greg started the toy once again and began singing along “...he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…”

 

Mycroft just turned on his heel and fled to his study.


	6. December 6th - It's the season of giving

December 6th - a Tuesday like any other - as far as Mycroft Holmes was concerned. Another step on the steps to heavenly bliss, accompanied by little silver bells according to the rest of the world.

 

He was spending a rather quiet afternoon at his club, enjoying the privacy of his own room there. The other rooms of the Diogenes slowly but surely were taken over by tasteful and expensive Christmas decoration. When there was a knock, he wasn’t too surprised to find himself face to face with John Watson. The list of visitors allowed to drop in on him here was rather short after all. 

 

“John? What can I do for you?”

 

The doctor’s polite smile told him that the man wasn’t here for some crisis but rather to ask for some favour or the other.

 

“Mycroft - well, usually I would go for some polite lie but I think we both know I’d just embarrass myself.”

 

Holmes stayed absolutely neutral. He got that this was John’s attempt at some light-hearted humour but a tiny part of him always enjoyed leaving his vis-a-vis clueless whether he actually caught those hints or not. In his day-to-day life he needed very carefully to act as if he was better at reading emotions than he actually was. In his private life he sometimes liked to pretend he was worse. Like Sherlock he had long ago learned that that could be used to one’s advantage as well. And even if it made him a bad person - he enjoyed messing with people from time to time.

 

Faced with the ongoing silence, John cleared his throat. “Well, this is a tad embarrassing anyway I’m afraid. But I thought if I couldn’t come to you and ask directly, well, who then?”

 

“Indeed, who then? Now I just need to know what exactly you came here to ask of me. Contrary to Sherlock’s beliefs, I’m not omniscient, John.”

 

John’s face turned serious. “The clinic is doing a charity drive for a neighbourhood youth centre. It will focus primarily in addiction prevention to help out people like Isaac and Billy. It will need a lot of money and I thought in the spirit of the season…”

 

“That I have a lot of money and a personal sentimental attachment to the cause.”

 

“No, Mycroft, it’s not like that it’s just…” John’s protest died on his lips. “OK - yes, yes it is exactly like that. But that hardly makes the project less worthwhile.”

 

“No, it doesn’t. And I appreciate your honesty, John. I will write you a cheque on one condition.”

 

“That is?”

 

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my personal headcanon Mycroft is a good person not by nature but by reaching the logical conclusion that he SHOULD do good (like Kant's Categorical Imperative). No one knows (because he doesn't care for recognition) but actually Mycroft gives to worthy charities all the time.
> 
> Also to everyone who celebrates it: Happy Santa Claus :)


	7. December 7th - Fairytale of NY

On Wednesday, December 7th, Mycroft missed Gregory in the morning because of different work schedules. After a long and rather exhausting day he really looked forward to a quiet evening, some snuggling (and maybe a bit more) with the man he loved. When he opened the front door to his home though his dreams of peace and quiet died a fast and painful death with the chorus of “Fairytale of New York”.

 

Gregory was in the living room listening to his very own collection of Christmas songs and not at what Mycroft would consider a tolerable volume.

 

For a moment Mycroft considered going into the living room, killing the ‘music’. But that would have meant facing the acoustic inferno. So instead he decided to call it an early night and go to bed.

 

Mycroft was lying in bed in his pyjamas feeling sorry for himself. He had looked forward to Gregory’s company. But he didn’t want to kill his lover’s festive mood. Not really. He really shouldn’t let his own moodiness affect other people, just because he couldn’t take any joy from the festivities. So he should just try to sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be less terrible a day.

 

“Hey, My. When did you sneak in, Love?”

 

“About half an hour ago.” He managed to produce an actual heartfelt smile for his partner.

 

“And straight to bed? Damn your day must have been terrible.” As always Gregory’s voice was warm when he was worried about Mycroft.

 

“It was taxing. People seem to get more difficult as the holidays approach.”

 

“Really? I never heard of such a thing.” Sarcasm was dripping from Greg’s voice.

 

“I never claimed to be easy on the best of days, Gregory. And I’ve warned you ample times that I get unbearable during Christmas.”

 

“You did,” Greg agreed amicably. He put a light kiss on Mycroft’s forehead. “I’m just saying you’re not exactly in a position to complain about others getting grumpy this time of year.”

 

“Point taken.”

 

Greg sat down on the side of the bed, gently running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

 

“What gets you so annoyed, My? I know sentimentality isn’t your forte but shouldn’t you just ignore it as something generally harmless?”

 

“You mean except for the fact that half of the population starts acting all manic and gets offended if you don’t join in, and the other half somehow expects miracles to actually happen before the completely arbitrary turn of the years and get all disappointed or angry when the world doesn’t comply to their expectations? There’s a reason everyone is eager to believe that Christmas has an elevated suicide rate and it’s not just the lack of sunlight hours - that usually takes a bit longer to fully hit the people prone to seasonal depression.”

 

Greg sighed. “It’s also one of the best days to have to work because everyone is doing their darndest to treat you nicely. And it’s less about the reality of miracles but the reality of hope. I think it’s a beautiful thing, really.”

 

Mycroft sighed as well, leaning into his lover’s hand. “I know, just don’t ask me to join in with the mindless masses.”

 

“And in the spirit of the season I will overlook that you just called me dumb, yet again, Mycroft Holmes, and go back to my music.” He kissed him once on the mouth. “Sleep well, Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record "Fairytale of New York" is abso-fucking-lutely perfect, even if McGowan had never written anything else he would be recognised as a certified genius. Mycroft has NO taste in music ;)


	8. December 8th - Greg's sister calls

On Thursday, December 8th, Mycroft got a text from Sue Morton.

 

“Hello Mycroft,  
please give me a call when you find the time  
Sue”

 

He wondered what Gregory’s sister wanted from him. Yet it didn’t sound urgent. So he waited until the early afternoon when he had a comfortable time frame in which he was sure he would stay uninterrupted.

 

“Morten.”

 

“Hello, Susan.”

 

“Ohh - Mycroft, thanks for calling me back. Look what I wanted to talk to… LISA! Put that back this instant. I don’t care whether you think it would make great jewellery, it was your great-grandmother’s and won’t be used for some spur-of-the-moment art project of yours. Sorry, Mycroft, it’s… Lisa - I’m on the phone! With your Uncle Mycroft. Now stop arguing.”

 

Mycroft didn’t quite know how he felt that he was now known as “Uncle Mycroft” to anyone, let alone a teenager he had never even personally met.

 

“Sorry again, Mycroft. Now what I wanted to talk to you about is next Saturday. I know it’s short notice but somehow my planning went all over the place this year. Well, same as every year to be fair. You know how busy the holiday season gets.”

 

“What about Saturday?”

 

“Well, the kids both want to go to the movies, so I figured it would be a good time for our annual Christmas tradition. I know you couldn’t make it last year with Sherlock and all, but we’re looking forward to having both of you here this year.”

 

Mycroft only had vague recollections of Gregory mentioning something of a meeting with his sister last year. He was sure that his lover had never mentioned any specific reason though.

 

“I would have to speak to your brother first.”

 

Sue laughed. “He has long ago told me to arrange any dates with you since your schedule usually is the more problematic one.”

 

“Well, I think I’m actually free on the 17th and so, to the best of my knowledge, is Gregory.” If this was some sibling tradition he would try his best not to get in the way. And if they wanted to include him, he should feel honoured. He guessed that he could live through some dinner and maybe a board game afternoon with Sue and her husband Bill or whatever else that tradition included.

 

“Oh that’s great.”

 

“One question though - what IS that tradition we’re talking about?”

 

“Watching “The Muppet Christmas Carol”, “A Muppet Family Christmas”, and “It’s a Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie” of course - it’s not Christmas without Kermit and Piggy.”

 

After he had ended the call Mycroft texted his PA:

 

“Please arrange for SOME crisis I need to take care of personally on the 17th  
MH”


	9. December 9th - M

Friday, December 9th saw Mycroft’s regular lunch date with M. They didn’t manage each week but Mycroft always looked forward to it. The head of MI6 was one of the most competent and rational people he knew - a truly refreshing break from the string of self-important idiots that made up the majority of his workplace associates.

 

“Holmes.”

 

“M.”

 

He nodded and sat down.

 

There were already two glasses on the table. He wasn’t that spontaneous and M knew his preferences, so she had already ordered him something to drink. He spent a few moments studying the menu before deciding on a dish. During that time M waited patiently. Only when they had both placed their order did Mycroft speak again.

 

“So anything happening on your end of which I should be aware?”

 

“That you haven’t already figured out? I’m not sure but let’s see. Wyndham-Pryce is trying to establish his dominance over Steward.”

 

“I highly doubt Kate will take that lying down.”

 

“Hardly, but he’s trying to use the Crimea situation and he’s playing budget games. He’s in a position where that causes a lot of difficulties for me, might cause problems with the Russians, and will make life harder for Steward resulting in her being distracted from real problems.”

 

“Regarding the budget games, are you aware of his attempt to pass a little something called ‘Legislation 14-B’?”

 

“Why do I have the feeling I won’t like the content of that legislation?”

 

They continued to exchange little bits and pieces helping Mycroft, and to a smaller degree M, to keep track of the bigger picture. All went well until dessert.

 

“Oh Mycroft - I know it’s a bit early but I will be in the Caribbean in two weeks and unsure when I’ll be back.”

 

And she pulled out an honest to god parcel wrapped in rich red gift paper with a dark green ribbon. There was no card attached, at least. She never had done this before. After a few years working with the woman he had assumed her to be safe. Apparently he had to adjust his prior judgement of the current head of the MI6. His facial expression must have given some of his reaction away.

 

“I can assure you, Holmes, it holds neither explosives, poisons, nor tracking devices. It’s a Christmas gift, that’s all. It won’t bite.” She was clearly amused and not offended by his rather cool reaction.

 

Well, despite his personal feelings there were several social conventions to be observed. 

 

“Thank you, M.”


	10. December 10th - Choosing gifts

On Saturday, December 10th, Mycroft had a surprise visit. Gregory wasn’t yet home when the doorbell rang. There weren’t too many people who knew where he lived and didn’t possess a key. When he opened the door, he was confronted by someone very familiar. For a very tiny moment Mycroft Holmes actually forgot his manners looking into his father’s face.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Holmes senior stared at his eldest. “I need your help, Myc.”

 

“Come on in.”

 

Seeing the signs of stress, Mycroft decided it would be best to prepare the kettle. His family - like most British people he knew - had always firmly believed in the mystical powers of tea to face any crisis. He ushered his father into the kitchen, by far the most practical and modern room in his home and therefore the least intimidating to people who didn’t come here often.

 

“Now what brings you to London and all on your own too?”

 

“It’s your mother.”

 

Mycroft knew that anything serious would have resulted in a simple phone call, so he doubted that something bad had happened to the family matriarch.

 

“What about Mummy?” He asked calmly pouring some perfectly prepared FOP 1 Assam.

 

“She had this insane idea, which she probably thinks to be lovely and charming, of not doing a wishlist this year. And she expects me to find a gift for her - and she told me to pick one for Greg - said I always seem to connect with him. You know how she will get if I pick the wrong things. And she said since she would pick out something for you, I would need to find something appropriate for Sherlock. - Sherlock! Mycroft I need help.”

 

“Obviously - now calm down. Why didn’t you just call?”

 

“Your mother would KNOW. I told her I wanted to go to London to have a look around. More things you can get here.”

 

Mycroft refrained from pointing out that Mummy would know anyway. His father never had been too logical when caught in a flight of panic. A drive like this for a shopping tour would have been suspicious even without the circumstances.

 

“Mummy knows fully well that I don’t need, want, or expect any kind of present.”

 

“You think that will stop your mother?”

 

The younger Holmes sighed. “Well, I’ve got an idea for Sherlock…”

 

“Mycroft - don’t use me in your little feud. Not on this. This is important.”

 

“Even if I were as childish as Sherlock, father, I would never do that. Besides - Mummy would make my life as unbearable as yours if I even tried.”

 

“So you have a real idea? For your brother? What about Greg?”

 

“I even have one appropriate for you to give Mummy I think.” 

 

The only problem was it would mean facing shopping in London - on a Saturday - in December. Even his father’s beaming gratitude could hardly make that bearable. But it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice.


	11. December 11th - Christmas songs

On Sunday, December 11th, Mycroft woke up to the scent of bacon, eggs, and sausages - and the quiet sound of piano music. Gregory had managed to not wake him up as he slipped out of bed and he had actually caught a blissful, uninterrupted, eight hours of sleep. He quickly put on his dressing gown and made his way into the kitchen where Gregory had just finished brewing the tea. It took a bit of willpower but Mycroft managed to ignore the three burning candles as well as Gregory’s reindeer slippers. Focussing on the - tastefully black - Ramones t-shirt and the heavenly smells, he even smiled just before he put a kiss on his lover’s neck.

 

“Finally - I thought I would have to pump up the volume to get you to join me.”

 

“You know the smell of bacon always works, Gregory.”

 

“That’s what I hoped for. No matter how grumpy, a traditional breakfast so far always has worked.”

 

“Wait…” Mycroft for the first time registered the text of the song currently playing. “Is that a Christmas song?”

 

“I thought ‘White Wine in the Sun’ would avoid enough cliches to not annoy you too much. I collected a playlist with less traditional songs just for you.” Greg beamed.

 

Mycroft could practically feel his eye beginning to twitch as something called ‘The Night Santa Went Crazy’ began to play. “How thoughtful of you.”

 

They sat down to eat and Mycroft managed to get through two sausages and a Ramones’ abomination before he finally gave in.

 

“Can we please stop that?”

 

Gregory looked hurt. “You really can’t endure it? Not even for the breakfast?”

 

“I’m sorry, but you know my music tastes are rather specific. And each and everyone of the songs on the list can easily be sung along with.” He felt apologetic. Gregory had really tried to accommodate him. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought but…”

 

“It really bugs you - alright.” Greg got up and killed the music, his own festive mood down the drains. He went on and blew out the candles on the Advent crown. Mycroft tried to protest but it was of no use at this point.

 

“I’m sorry.” Mycroft stated flatly.

 

“I know.” Greg started to attack his scrambled eggs with a certain viciousness. After a few moments of silence he stopped though. “Why do the songs annoy you so much?”

 

Mycroft sighed “Why don’t they annoy you? I mean they are repetitive, full of false cheerfulness, and accompanied by the sound of tiny bells. If you actually LISTEN to the texts they aren’t lovely or romantic; I vaguely remember one that was actually about a date rape I once couldn’t escape hearing when Mummy tuned in on an ‘oldie hour’. The ones that try to be funny are even worse - Sherlock was in tears for days after hearing ‘Grandma was run over by a reindeer’ for the first time because, of course, it was right after our paternal grandmother died. And even the best - those that avoid the worst pit traps - are still sickeningly sentimental and revolve around feelings in a way that I find distasteful.”

 

“Despite all your protests I know for a fact that you have feelings too, My.”

 

“Of course - but they are private, between me and the persons involved, as it should be - not serenaded about.”

 

“OK noted - and just for the record, Mycroft Holmes, that means from now on if you ever manage to get on my bad side in earnest, serenading might be a way to appease me.”


	12. December 12th - The Equerry

On Monday, December 12th, Mycroft was interrupted in working through some reports when Anthea entered his office unannounced. He looked up from his screen, the question plain on his face.

 

“You’ve got a visitor, Sir.”

 

“I wasn’t aware I had any appointments.”

 

“I assure you that you have one now, Sir.”

 

He nodded, closing his laptop. There was no use in having a highly qualified PA if he didn’t trust her.

 

She turned on her heel and a moment later led in an older man Mycroft knew from all the right parties with all the right people. A man who worked officially as the equerry for a woman he only ever referred to as ‘an old friend’ if he had to admit to knowing her as anything but a face on the coins.

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“Harry, please come in. What can I do for you?”

 

The man took the offered seat and waited until Anthea had left the room. “Lovely young lady you’ve got there working for you. And as intelligent as she is beautiful I’m sure.”

 

“Indeed. It shows your wisdom once again that you won’t simply talk in front of her because you ignore the existence of the secretary.”

 

“Do many people fall for that?” 

 

Mycroft showed a small smile. “Some.”

 

“Now as to the reason for my being here, I’m actually here on an errand for my employer.”

 

Mycroft immediately sat up that fraction of an inch more straightly that would have seemed impossible a moment before.

 

“We both know that your kind of position simply doesn’t allow for any kind of public recognition. A part of what makes you so effective is the relative obscurity from which you operate. Also my employer feels that no official kind of title or monetary compensation could ever truly reflect your worth for this country.”

 

“Neither recognition nor compensation have ever been my goal, as you yourself understand perfectly well.” Mycroft paused as Harry nodded with a small smile. “But the knowledge that our efforts are recognised is nevertheless appreciated.”

 

Again Harry nodded. “This year she has tasked me with seeking out a handful of individuals and presenting them with a hand-picked token of her appreciation. And you are obviously a part of that very exclusive list.” He put his briefcase on the desk, opened it and pulled out a small package in wrapping paper covered in glittery pink and teal reindeer.

 

The only thing that stopped Mycroft from thinking disgusted thoughts about that package was the fact it would be treason.

 

“Happy Christmas, Holmes - and don’t open it before the 25th.”


	13. December 13th - Mary and traditions

On Tuesday, December 13th, Mycroft was just about to leave for his club when he was ambushed.

 

He was just entering his car when he was suddenly grabbed by the arm and a woman let herself drop into the backseat next to him. She rattled off an address before Mycroft had any chance of saying something. His driver waited for Mycroft to nod before he actually followed her orders - definitely better trained than his substitute.

 

“Hello, Mary.”

 

“Mycroft.” she beamed.

 

“I don’t think your attempt at kidnapping me will be very successful, my dear. While I don’t doubt that you could easily take me out in a direct confrontation and maybe even my driver, you would hardly be able to do so without him raising an alarm.”

 

“Well, the way I see it, Mycroft, we’re going exactly where I want us to go. I have no intend to use force or do you any physical harm, so let’s not unsettle your poor driver. Although the man probably is used to your kind of humour by now.”

 

“And where are we going?”

 

“First for a quick shop and then to our place.”

 

Mycroft groaned at the thought of setting his foot into any kind of shop but he knew Mary Watson well enough to expect a bit more than just a bit of a grocery run.

 

“And what are we shopping for?”

 

“The right kind of oval shaped baking mold - and tons of fruit, treacle, almonds - the whole nine yards.”

 

“And why would we do that?”

 

“Because traditional mince pies are oval,” she declared beamingly. “You, Mycroft Holmes, will help me to prepare mince pies, Christmas cake, and a proper Christmas pudding.”

 

“I will most certainly do no such thing. I have more important things to do with my time than such nonsense.”

 

He was just about to tell his driver to change directions when Mary with a very serious face told him: “You most certainly will, Mycroft. I just ran into Greg the other day and he seemed dejected. We talked a bit and while it’s perfectly clear that he’s not blaming you in any way, shape, or form for your lack of enthusiasm, it is obviously bringing him down. This is NOT a season to be gloomy, Mycroft Holmes and you will work on fixing that - starting with mince pies and Christmas pudding. Do we understand each other?”

 

Ever since she and John had had that baby, Mary had become frighteningly authoritative. Mycroft dreaded to think about how much she sometimes reminded him of his own mother in such moments.

 

“Yes, perfectly.”


	14. December 14th - Broken Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sylvana_Floete who send me the basic dialogue through chat when we first talked over this idea (Come to think of it I never thanked her for the original story inspiration: Thank You, Sylvana!)

When Mycroft Holmes entered his office on Wednesday, December 14th, for a moment he thought he had stepped into a parallel dimension. He called for his PA immediately.

 

"Anthea my dear, would you be so kind to explain to me, what in the nine circles of hell is THAT?"

 

"A candle, Sir."

 

"And what would a candle - especially one decorated with little pieces of fir and a small golden star - be doing on my desk? I suppose you DID put it there, given that you are the only person allowed to enter this study in my absence?"

 

"Well, yes, Sir. In my defence, I was acting on orders."

 

"Orders? Whose orders? I was under the impression that I gave those around here."

 

Faced with pulsating vein right over his left eye and the slight twitch in the corresponding lid, Anthea got slightly worried.

 

“Of course you do, Sir. It’s just there are a few, very select people who also…”

 

“Who?!”

 

“I’m not at leave to tell, Sir.”

 

“Let me guess - ‘orders’?”

 

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

 

The list of culprits who could make his PA do anything was indeed very short, M was on it - as her nominal second boss, Gregory of course - if it wasn’t directly contradicting a standing order, maybe Sherlock - if he managed to convince her of his pure intend, Mummy - if she somehow got Anthea’s contact data, and, well, his very old friend - she held all the authority in the land after all.

 

Gregory was the most likely candidate but what reason would he have to keep his involvement a secret?

 

Could Mary maybe have convinced Anthea? Probably - Mary was a highly capable and intelligent woman after all.

 

He guessed he would have to adjust the list.

 

Mycroft took a deep and calming breath. “Do your orders prevent me from throwing the terrible thing out?”

 

A small smile showed on Anthea’s lips. “Not explicitly, Sir. And I forgot to ask.”


	15. December 15th - Last retreat of sanity

On December 15th Sherlock looked up to see his brother enter his flat.

 

“Mycroft? What an unpleasant surprise. To what circumstances do I owe the displeasure on this lovely Thursday?”

 

Mycroft took a look around, taking in the still blissfully normal chaos. Usually the disorder and lack of hygiene made him curl his lip in distaste - two weeks into December they made him feel comfortable in a way he would have thought impossible. He simply sat down on the ‘client’ chair.

 

“Do you have a case?” Sherlock couldn’t quite keep the excitement out of his voice.

 

“I’m afraid not, brother-mine.”

 

“You broke into my hidden stash.”

 

“Hardly all that hidden - and I only took back what was mine. I thought you would appreciate me breaking into your home without you there taking something without your consent, it shows I’m trying to share at least some of your hobbies.”

 

Sherlock’s angry glare was soothing to Mycroft’s soul.

 

“I hate to repeat myself, but why are you here Mycroft?”

 

“Since you refuse to answer your phone I came to deliver Mummy’s ‘invitation’ personally. You are expected to make an appearance on Christmas Eve and stay until Boxing Day. You can bring as many friends as you like as long as you give our parents a fair warning.”

 

“Nonsense - that’s not your reason. You only tried twice and never even attempted to text. You only wanted an excuse to come here. Also I’m NOT coming.”

 

“I can assure it was at least one of my reasons - and you WILL make an appearance. Mummy made it very clear that she wouldn’t accept any excuses.”

 

“Not to me directly - meaning YOU will be in trouble with her if I skip, not me. What is your main reason to come, Myc?” The last one such a clear provocation that Mycroft began to question his wisdom to come here.

 

“You know my full name, Sherlock, and we are under no pressure for time. I won’t suffer through that alone. And since the invitation was clearly meant for John and Mary as well I took the liberty of informing them both. I’m sure they would be heartbroken to go there without you, brother-mine.”

 

A pout clearly showed on his brother’s face. “As always you are playing dirty.”

 

“Weren’t you the one who - aged four - proudly proclaimed ‘pirates know and obey no rules but their own’?”

 

“I won’t get anyone any presents.”

 

“I don’t think anyone really expects you to, Sherlock.”

 

His brother - unable to score a point any other way - got up and fetched his violin, starting to play a loud, out of tune, headache inducing interpretation of ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’. Mycroft fled the now tainted haven immediately.


	16. December 16th - Talk to me

When Mycroft came home on Friday, December the 16th, Gregory had prepared a lovely meal. If this whole Christmas nonsense had his partner in a domestic, cooking mood, then Mycroft might find at least some positive aspects to the season after all.

He entered the kitchen and was greeted not only by delicious smells but also by a lovely looking man in a ridiculous apron. Mycroft greeted Gregory with a loving kiss that his lover only ended because he had to take the meat out of the oven.

“Don’t.” Greg said, just as Mycroft was about to sit down at the kitchen table. “This is not a meal to just be devoured in the kitchen - I laid the table in the dining room.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Any special occasion I’m unaware of? I am pretty sure that this is neither any kind of relevant anniversary nor a birthday.”

“Stop asking stupid questions, or dinner will grow cold.”

“As you wish, Gregory.”

The dining room was decorated in a tasteful, restrained, yet still festive way. Mycroft really had no objective reason to complain. His lover’s usual taste in decoration - like his Alice Cooper action figure - were a lot harder to defend than this dark green and red hues. There wasn’t even glitter anywhere - bless Gregory’s heart.

They sat down and shared a lovely meal in peace and quiet, talking about their days and enjoying a good glass of wine and each other’s company. Still Mycroft felt uncomfortable about the clearly festive mood and Greg couldn’t help but notice.

“How about we drop on the couch and leave the cleaning up for later?”

Mycroft was pleasantly surprised to see the living room free of any decoration. He followed Gregory’s open invitation to lay his head on his lap and began to relax.

“So when are you going to tell me what the problem is, My?” The fingers gently stroking his hair practically made it impossible for Mycroft to flee the conversation.

An appreciative smile showed on the older Holmes’ face. “I really should know better by now than to underestimate you.”

“You should - now are you going to talk to me or do I really have to bring out the big guns?”

“Isn’t it enough that I abhor pretense and overly sentimental display of emotion?”

“My you always have reasons, usually more complex ones than that. I would blame what happened last year, but you were annoyed at the festivities back then already.”

Mycroft sighed. “My reasons I assure you are quite straightforward, Love. And they can be traced back to one person.”

“Sherlock?” Greg wasn’t surprised, most extreme reactions Mycroft showed were connected to his brother after all.

“Can you imagine growing up and spending Christmas with Sherlock? I actually enjoyed the season just fine until I was eight or nine.”

“Then Sherlock started to walk?”

“And talk. He exploded his new chemistry set when he was six and I had to spend Christmas with him in his room keeping him away from the guests that came to our parents’ party. When he was eight he got so bored over Christmas dinner, he outed me and I spent the rest of the holidays listening to Mummy’s lectures on safe sex. I remember Christmas dinners silently glaring at each other. I remember fights that got so vicious Mummy sent both of us to our rooms until the end of Boxing Day. I remember me being unable to console Sherlock, because of course the bloody dog had to die three days before Christmas. I remember spending a whole four days at a hospital bed, waiting when or if Sherlock would wake up again. Last year was only the continuation of a trend…”

Gregory leaned down for a kiss. “I’m sorry for pushing.”

“Don’t be. You of all people have a right to know - help you understand why I’m such a prickly bastard about this. I have learned to live with Sherlock and his antics. But I simply can’t find it in me to add a stupidly happy smile on top of all of that just because society claims it’s the thing to do around the winter solstice.”


	17. December 17th - MUPPETS

When Saturday, December 17th, came around Anthea hadn’t managed to find a suitable catastrophe that would get Mycroft out of his promise. He spent the better part of the morning working from his study at home, keeping up with recent developments in the world, hiding from the smell of cinnamon and vanilla originating from the kitchen. He knew that Gregory planned to leave around noon to visit his sister and her family and dreaded the moment when his lover would declare his baking finished and himself ready to leave.

It was half past one when a knock on his study’s door interrupted his reading.

“Yes?”

Gregory opened the door. “Hey, Lover. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.”

Mycroft furrowed his brow. Ten minutes was a bit short notice if Gregory expected him to be ready on time. And he had used the singular. “You?”

“Well, you are obviously busy and I’m sure Sue will understand when I explain that to her. If you finish unexpectedly early, you can always join us later.”

Mycroft felt a wave of relief washing over him. He loved Gregory. And Sue and her husband were perfectly lovable people as far as goldfish went. But the thought of spending his Saturday afternoon and evening watching movies of any kind - let alone holiday themed children’s entertainment - was pure horror no matter the company. And now his lover had presented him with an out.

“Thank you.”

Gregory smiled at him. “Just don’t do something stupid while I’m away.”

*

Mycroft spent a rather productive couple of hours after Gregory left - at least at first. The longer he spent alone in the house though the more he lost his focus.

‘It’s an honour that they invited you. You should be glad that someone actually wants your company - it’s a rare enough occasion.’

‘My attitude would only spoil the experience for them. Why would I want to destroy their lovely tradition?’

‘You promised to be there.’

‘But Gregory offered you an out. He understands perfectly that the whole thing would be torture for you.’

‘And yet he did look at least a little bit sad when he smiled at you.’

*

Sue Morton was rather surprised when she opened the door to find Mycroft Holmes there. Greg had given the impression that he didn’t really believe his partner to make an appearance.

“Mycroft, how good of you to make it. I’m afraid you already missed two out of three showings today, but we saved the best for last. And there’s still plenty of biscuits and eggnog.”

One out of three was exactly the quota Mycroft had calculated as tolerable without him losing his countenance.

When he settled onto the couch with Gregory at his side and felt his lover’s content sigh as he snuggled against him, Mycroft was almost sure that he would survive watching a horde of chaotic felt puppets celebrating Christmas with a grandmotherly bear who had planned to fly to Hawaii of all places.


	18. December 18th -  Christmas Tree

Sunday, December 18th, saw the lighting of the fourth candle. Mycroft had come to terms with his fate to the point where he didn’t even protest the advent crown on the breakfast table. And Gregory was happy. After Saturday and Mycroft’s unexpected appearance his festive mood had risen once again and was apparently reaching new heights.

Mycroft was glad to see him this happy. He really was. Now if he just could be happy without humming the tunes of carols.

“My?”

“Yes?”

“I’m pretty sure I already know the answer, but do you own any tree ornaments?”

Mycroft blinked. “Why would I?”

“That’s what I thought.” Gregory sighed. “It’s just that I only own a few beloved pieces of my Gran’s and a handful of cheap baubles I bought after the divorce - hardly enough for a tree that would fit our living room.”

Mycroft looked at his lover. He had brought this on himself really. Going to the Mortens’ place, joining in the family tradition had to encourage Gregory, of course. And now he only had the choice to either break his lover’s heart by crushing his reawakened hope or to live in misery for one month each year for the remainder of his days. He carefully considered his options.

“You were thinking about putting up a…” He carefully started.

“You hate the idea.”

There really was no use denying the obvious.

“A real tree has to be cut down and transported here. It will lose its leaves almost immediately, requiring constant cleaning. Once it’s dry it will be a fire hazard. You already have the smell of fir from the wreath so there’s no additional advantage. And an artificial tree is absolutely off the table, I won’t stand for such tastelessness.”

“Naturally.” Greg smiled. “Look I wasn’t exactly serious about having a tree. I was just teasing - maybe testing the waters a little bit. But we won’t be here for the holidays and right afterwards we’ll both be working again. It would be wasted anyway.” He shrugged.

“My parents will have a tree.”

“So I get to enjoy all the benefits for two days and none of the cleaning up?”

“It’s a rather agreeable compromise, don’t you think? My mood will be absolutely terrible anyway, with Sherlock there and Mummy’s insistence on everyone acting like a big happy family, I sincerely doubt any fir atrocity will be able to worsen the experience.”

Gregory laughed. “You know it’s a good thing I’m aware of your sense of self-deprecating irony, otherwise I would start to worry.”

“I love you too, Gregory.”


	19. December 19th - Santa Hat

Monday, December 19th: Christmas was drawing closer and it got harder and harder ignoring it. Mycroft’s office wasn’t as isolated as he would have liked and although Anthea had refrained from decorating his office after that one incident and kept the waiting area more or less neutral, he really couldn’t escape the ‘jolly spirit of the season‘ within the building.

The halls all had fir decoration as well as red and gold and silver baubles. The building itself was too official to allow for blinking lights or garish pictures off fat, jolly, old man with flying reindeer – or GLITTER.

That didn’t stop some of the other residents though. And certainly not the visitors.

On Monday Mycroft saw Miss Lupescu from down the hall with two tiny Christmas ball ornament earrings, Jonathan wearing a tie with a discrete but nevertheless existent pattern of sleighs drawn by reindeer, Mr. Smythe - like every year - wore his Christmas tree shaped cufflinks, his PA Natalia wore red and white striped tights even if they were mostly hidden under a professional pantsuit and so on. Whenever any of the doors opened Mycroft caught small glimpses of candle light, a whiff of cinnamon, orange, or vanilla, or a couple of notes from an overly cheerful song.

There were times in his life Mycroft wished he could walk through life as blindly and ignorant as the rest of humanity.

Not that that would have helped with Lord Freud. 

“David.”

“Mycroft, gosh it’s difficult to get a hold of you these days.”

“You know how it is - busiest time of the year, with budgets needing to get balanced, end of the year administrative emergencies...”

“The whole nine yards, I get it.” Baron Freud beamed at him. Mycroft desperately tried to ignore the red and white Father Christmas hat sitting over bespectacled eyes as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Well, I’m not planning on keeping you from your work long. It’s just that I try to drop in on my friends before everyone leaves for the holidays to share a glass of good sherry and good wishes for the coming year.” The member of the House of Lords put a bottle of an exquisite beverage on Mycroft’s desk.

“How very good of you, please allow me to provide the glasses.” Mycroft got up and fetched some appropriate glasses, his mask of polite friendliness not even slipping when his back was turned. Maybe the alcohol would make things easier.

Freud poured them both a generous but not decadent amount and closed the bottle. “I’m afraid we both still have work to do.”

Mycroft nodded. “Indeed.”

“Well,” the Lord raised his glass. “Happy Christmas, Mycroft.”

Still very definitely NOT staring at the hat, Mycroft raised his glass in answer. “And to a prosperous and successful new year.”


	20. December 20th - CHRISTmas

On Tuesday, December 20th, Mycroft had to attend a charity function. It was an international but rather discreet affair. He went there to meet with a few people he rarely had a chance to talk to without causing several alarm bells to ring. In certain circles it meant a lot to be seen here and it was very interesting to see which kind of people were attending. Outside of these circles the whole function barely registered, a fact that made it possible for someone like Mycroft to make an appearance in the first place.

Which of course didn’t mean that only people from within said circle were on the guest list; those made up maybe a fifth of the crowd. The rest were blissfully ignorant, good people who really were here for the charity only.

And if one wanted to avoid attention, one had to treat everyone with the same level of politeness.

Which meant that Mycroft had no acceptable way to escape the conversation with this rather obnoxious American woman.

“I have to say I find the decorations pretty tasteless.”

Mycroft couldn’t say that he was a fan of all the candles and the golden stars and the bits and pieces of evergreen but considering it was a social gathering during December, he wasn’t sure what the woman had expected.

“I’m afraid a charity has to accommodate for the taste of the majority to appeal to a widespread donor base.” He kept his tone deliberately neutral.

“Well I think a charity would do a lot better if they remembered what this season is all about.”

The woman’s self-righteous attitude annoyed Mycroft to no end and he decided to test her capability for humour.

“Endless consumerism and much too much food?” He produced a small smile to help her spot the irony. She was American after all and might need all the help she could get to spot a joke not accompanied by a laughter track.

She smiled politely.

“It’s a pity so many think that way. This is the season to remember that God loved us enough to send us his son. It’s a season to remember that HE told us to be charitable and kind. Why do they have to use all this secular imagery? Why are there no crosses? Pictures of the shepherds? Angels? I haven’t even seen a nativity manger since I came here. Christmas is Christianity’s most important holiday.”

“I’m afraid, Madame, that like most of my countrymen I was told to be charitable and kind by my mother, not by the Lord himself and I can’t even say that she ever evoked his name when doing so. Also not everyone around here was brought up in your faith and a Muslim guest, a Jewish or an atheist one might be made feeling uncomfortable and not welcome by such blatant displays as a crib or a cross. In the end I think any god worth listening to would care more about our deeds than our decorations, to be completely frank with you. Also the last time I checked Easter was the highest holiday of the church, seeing that the faith revolves around the miracle of resurrection instead of the rather common occurrence of birth.”

After the woman had fled, Mycroft found himself cornered by some official of the Anglican church complimenting him on his handling of her. Although the man was friendly and far more moderate than the woman had been, Mycroft really didn’t enjoy the discussion about the origins and theological interpretations of the Christmas celebrations. The bishop was obviously happy to have found someone educated and intelligent to talk with and was a man of deep and profound faith.

Mycroft smiled his most official smile and inwardly cursed each and every attendant of this blasted thing and the fact that he wouldn’t be able to leave before midnight.


	21. December 21st - Mycroft being domestic

Wednesday, December 21st, Mycroft worked mostly from home. After a rather late night the day before it was the easiest way to handle his upset usual schedule. 

And one rather lovely advantage of working from home was the fact that he was already there when Gregory came home from an early shift.

There were many, many things Mycroft wasn’t fond of, Christmas being but one of them. Another thing he much preferred letting others handle was cooking. It was a dull, necessary exercise that included messy, manual tasks.

On the other hand there were not many things Mycroft Holmes was fond of - and a certain member of Scotland Yard was very high up on the list. 

Mycroft knew that he wasn’t a sociable person at the best of times and that the only person who was generally considered even less easy to be around than himself was Sherlock. He was more than aware of the fact that the Christmas season brought out the worst in him. And Gregory had been a veritable saint dealing with him and all his issues not only the last couple of weeks but every day since they had gotten together. So it was only fair giving something back from time to time. If that meant spending two hours in the kitchen to prepare an adequate meal to await the DI when he came home, then so be it.

When Greg entered their home at shortly after five he was greeted with the smell of roasted pork and rosemary as well as Mycroft wearing an honest-to-god-apron.

“OK that is scary.”

“The fact that I’m cooking?”

“The fact that you got actual dirt on the apron. You usually stay perfectly clean no matter what.”

“Gregory, if I were able to stay clean while preparing a roast, the apron would be quite unnecessary.”

“Of course.” Lestrade couldn’t quite keep the amused twinkle out of his eyes.

It was a testament to how far they had progressed over the last roughly year and a half that Mycroft didn’t retreat, didn’t even show a tiny moment of hurt at another’s amusement supposedly at his cost. He trusted Greg to the point where he could smile as an answer, without the self-awareness taking on a tinge of bitterness.

“Well if you prefer to stay here and laugh at me doing the absolutely sensible thing of wearing appropriate attire, I’m sure that dinner will taste just lovely even if consumed on my own.”

“Don’t you dare, Holmes.”

Mycroft shook his head. “You are really lucky that I’m not my brother - otherwise your last words would have ensured that you would never get to taste that roast.”

Greg snorted. “Just one of the many, MANY reasons why I’m not with your brother, My-Love.”


	22. December 22nd -  Letters from Father Christmas

On Thursday, December 22nd, Mycroft came home rather late only to find Gregory sitting in the living room, reading some small booklet in front of a fire.

“We’ve got central heating, you know.”

“I happen to like a real fire in the fireplace nevertheless. As do you. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been cut wood waiting to be lit in there.”

Mycroft smiled. “Ah - I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“I might not be a Sherlock Holmes but I am a not completely incompetent member of the Yard, My.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Greg looked at him surprised. “I wasn’t aware that you needed to ask.”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb your reading.” Mycroft pulled out the decanter and poured himself a glass of sherry. A quick questioning glance showed Gregory nodding, so he poured a second glass and passed it on.

“Thanks.”

Mycroft sat down next to his lover. “What are you reading?”

Greg was holding up the dark green book showing the cover.

“The Father Christmas Letters?” Mycroft sighed.

“My mum found it while cleaning up some old boxes from the basement. She got it for me when it came out and I loved it. I might have been a bit too old even then but the adventures of North Polar Bear, Paksu and Valkotukka just caught my imagination.”

“Paksu and Valkotukka?” Mycroft knew he was going to regret asking.

“The North Polar Bear’s nephews. They are almost as chaotic as their uncle. It’s cute really.”

“OK I bite. What IS that thing about?”

“Tolkien - you know Tolkien, don’t you?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He might be unaware of popular culture but a nearly 100 year old book by an Oxford linguist was something he had indeed heard of.

“Right, sorry, I’m too used to Sherlock sometimes. Well, he used to answer his children’s letters to Father Christmas. Came up with a squiggly handwriting, drew pictures and stamps and told silly old stories about the goings-on at the North Pole that year. It’s all very cute - especially that he went through all that trouble to make his children’s Christmas that little bit extra special. Wrote them from 1920 when John was 3 until ‘42 when Priscilla was 13. I know you’ll probably think it’s all a silly waste of time and energy but…”

Mycroft took Gregory’s hand in his and squeezed. “Actually I don’t.”

Greg’s eyes widened.

“I might not connect to these specific tales but I do recognise the value of family traditions and the importance of a caring childhood home. And if your mother found this for you I understand why it still holds a special place in your heart.”

He put a kiss on Greg’s lips, tasting of warmth and sherry. “I’ll leave you to your reading, Love.”


	23. December 23rd - Caroling

After a long and stressful Friday, December 23rd, on which Mycroft had made as sure as he possibly could that his prolonged weekend would stay uninterrupted, the British Government was relieved to finally be home. A part of him wondered why he did this to himself. Ensuring that he wouldn’t be needed took an extra level of preparation and involved the ruining of Christmas for a handful of people who actually cared about the dreaded festivities.

The answer, as always, was complicated.

His mother cared deeply and not going would ruin her Christmas as well as his father’s. A fact he cared about a lot more than the feelings or holiday plans of any of the people he worked with. Yes, he had successfully avoided family reunions for years but he was painfully aware that neither of his parents was growing any younger. And no matter how much he denied it, he would miss any member of his family if they were truly gone.

And then there was Gregory. Not only did the man he love obviously care about the holidays but it was a rare opportunity for them to spend some uninterrupted time together. Yes, his parents would be there, and John and Mary, and Sherlock but neither of those people required them to be anything but themselves. 

Mycroft smiled at the thought. For a very long time Sherlock had been the only one to understand him. His parents - while not totally comprehending their brilliant sons - at least were ready to accept them. Now John and Mary somehow managed to take a position somewhere in between, at least somewhat grasping what made a Holmesian mind tick. And Gregory, well, in some ways it was impossible for Gregory to understand him the way that Sherlock did, in other ways he understood him better than anyone else - maybe even better than himself. 

So despite his stressful day and the outlook on two days spent trapped in a house with Sherlock, Mycroft was slowly beginning to relax, focussing on the positive points of the next few days. That is, until the doorbell rang.

Unsure where his lover was at the moment, Mycroft moved to open the door.

When he did open, he was greeted with the sight of almost a dozen people wearing warm clothes and sensible shoes, as well as several seasonal decorative items such as mistletoe pins on lapels, tiny bell earrings, and four standard issue santa hats. Before he could say anything they all started singing more or less simultaneously, beaming like madmen.

“Oh come all ye faithful…”

Mycroft froze in horror, unsure how to react or what to do. When he felt Gregory’s arm on his shoulder he felt at least somewhat less like he was trapped in a horrible parallel dimensions. While the people kept singing mostly in tune, Mycroft heard his lover whispering into his ear.

“Some of the neighbours wanted to start up a new caroling tradition. They asked me if I wanted to join.” There was some quiet laughter as the policeman felt Mycroft’s slight tensing. “I obviously declined. I’m here on this side of the door, aren’t I? I still think it’s lovely.”


	24. Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve - Mycroft and Gregory indulged themselves sleeping in. It was 9 o’clock before either of them first moved a bare foot to the floor to scuffle to the bathroom.

“When do your parents expect us?” Greg asked around his toothbrush.

“If we aren’t there for tea, we’ll be in trouble - considering the driving time I could negotiate our absence during lunch.”

Lestrade grinned. “So at least three hours just for the two of us. You are the best.”

“Don’t plan out all that time just yet. Don’t forget we need to at least eat breakfast, pack our overnight bags…”

“The presents!” Now Greg sounded slightly panicked.

“What about them?” A horrifying thought hit Mycroft. “Don’t tell me you still need to buy something.”

“What? No! Of course not. But they need to all be properly boxed and wrapped. I hope I bought enough wrapping paper and ribbons.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are aware of the fact that you can let the shopping assistant wrap them for you.”

“Mycroft Holmes, I will NOT give away pre-wrapped gifts. Choosing the right paper and ribbons is part of the fun.”

His lover raised his eyebrow. “Especially if you have to do all of it in a few hours on Christmas Eve.”

“Shut up, My, and prepare breakfast. I have things to do!”

*

Among Mycroft’s many talents, preparing a luxurious breakfast came pretty far down on the list. Thankfully in preparation for two days of fulminant feasts anything but a light snack would have been a stupid idea anyway. He prepared a few sandwiches and brewed a fresh pot of tea. Coffee was the choice of beverage if he needed to prepare for a long and stressful day quickly. Today he had no such need. He even caught himself humming quietly to himself while putting one of Sue’s homemade cookies on each of their plates. 

Greg could be heard cursing from the living room.

*

After a quick shared breakfast Greg, still in his pyjamas retreated back into the living room with a strict order to Mycroft not to come in.

Mycroft decided to take a long and hot shower, for once not taking Gregory’s needs for warm water into account. Judging from the sounds coming from behind closed doors, it would be a while until his partner would be ready to get ready to leave. Until then the hot water supply should have replenished itself.

After a decadent shower Mycroft cut his nails, shaved, and finally opened and used the new aftershave Gregory had gotten him. After getting dressed, he carefully knocked on the living room door.

“I’ll need more time.” Came the rather strained sounding voice. 

“As you wish.”

Mycroft started packing: the necessities such as toothbrush, pyjamas, fresh clothes first for him then for Gregory, then the tastefully and professionally wrapped gifts for Mummy and Father, Sherlock, John, Mary, and the baby, and of course Gregory’s, then the few packages people had insisted on giving him before today, and lastly his laptop. Checking the time, he once more went to knock on the living room door.

“What?”

“Gregory, I don’t want to hurry you but I need to know what time to tell the driver to get us.”

The door opened. Greg looked incredibly frustrated. “Look I have no idea how long it will take. Two presents are almost impossible to wrap in any way, I have a papercut, and I’m not sure the paper will be enough for everything. Considering that I’m still in my pyjamas and haven’t even packed yet, I highly doubt we’ll make it to your parents in time for tea. I’m willing to take all the blame but please stop hurrying me that doesn’t exactly help.”

Mycroft took Greg’s hand in his own, pressing them reassuringly. His voice was perfectly calm when he spoke.

“Have you wrapped my gift?”

Greg nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. I assume I’m allowed in then.” The British Government took a look around the room. He spotted a few perfect looking wrapped gifts as well as several unwrapped ones a rather giant teddy bear among them, several rolls of wrapping paper and ribbon, scissors, tape, small bits and pieces of cut off or wrinkled paper, all together creating a perfect image of chaos in the living room. “I see.” He turned towards Gregory. “Now, lover-mine, you hit the shower. Don’t worry about packing, I already did that for both of us. I’ll see what I can do here.”

“You think you can save this?” 

“This is nothing compared to the Scottish independence movement - now go - shower.”

*

When Greg came out of the bathroom, clean-shaven and dressed, he found the living room still rather chaotic but all gifts wrapped neatly in all kinds of boxes. The only thing missing were the ribbons.

“I thought I’d leave that aesthetical choice to you.” Mycroft handed him the ribbons and scissors.

“You found a box to fit the bear into?”

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“I could have sworn the paper would run out after I messed up a whole roll through my clumsiness.”

Mycroft smiled. “Diagonally wrapping wastes far less paper. Never say maths isn’t good for anything.”

“Smug git.”

“Always - now get the ribbons on those packages, my driver will arrive in half an hour.”

*

After a bit of hectic last-minute-fidgeting, Gregory and Mycroft managed to get all presents and their suitcase into the boot of the car and leave on time.

While their driver had the ungrateful task of facing the London traffic, Greg leaned against Mycroft, slowly relaxing.

“Now, did you really need all that stress today?”

“Stupid My - it’s not really the holidays until someone is close to tears because of something. It might not be my favourite part but Christmas wouldn’t really be complete without it.”

Mycroft sighed. “If you say so…”

Greg smiled. “You were a lifesaver by the way, thanks.”

Mycroft just smiled and put a kiss on Gregory’s hair. 

“Merry Christmas, Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Merry Christmas to all of you :)
> 
> (Psst there might be some bonus material coming)


	25. Bonus: Christmas with the family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love you all here a small collage of things that happened at the Holmeses :)

Mycroft face distorted in disgust when Greg tried to convince him of the advantages of the Barenaked Ladies’ “Elf’s Lament”. "They sound CHEERFUL," he stated with the kind of tone other people reserved for "pedophilia".

"Bloody MOZART sounds cheerful, you hypocrite!"

"In all my collection of music, did you see even ONE version of the Magical Flute?"

In the background Sherlock proceeded to play one of Mozart's violin concertos.

Mycroft and Gregory both turned around: "YOU stay out of this!"

Sherlock looked at Lestrade in confusion. "But I'm on your side."

Greg ignored him and turned towards his partner. "Music is about emotions - ALL emotions!"

"Well, it evokes emotions in me, just very specific ones."

Mummy tried her best to re-establish peace. It was Christmas after all. "Well, what music would you feel like we should put on, Greg?"

Lestrade mumbled so that only Mycroft would hear him. "I doubt Sid Vicious would be counted as festive.” In a normal voice he turned to the Holmeses’ matriarch. “How about ‘Swing When You’re Winning’, Violet?”

Mycroft and Sherlock both immediately protested vehemently. "NO!" They then turned and looked at each other in utmost surprise at the synchronicity.

Mummy’s smile had certain shark-like qualities about it.

And after Mycroft made one too many derogatory comment about the stupid sentimentality of the whole thing, Greg with the sweetest smile proposed "Let's sing some Christmas songs" and Mummy and Mary enthusiastically joined in.  
*

 

While Mary changed the nappies of the youngest Watson, Mummy shared stories about baby Mycroft and Sherlock. Both Holmes ‘boys’ very desperately clung to their expression of "I'm an adult and WAY above getting embarrassed by this".

"You know, you're lucky it's a girl, Mary. With boys - well babies never seem to be quite finished peeing when you change them and boys have a far greater 'reach'. I remember Mycroft was so curious and protective of little Sherlock, he always watched my every move when I changed his baby brother. That is until Sherlock peed straight in his face."

Mycroft sighed at the memory. "And THERE goes a childhood in a nutshell."  
Gregory tried very hard not to laugh. John on the other hand had no such qualms and laughed loud enough for the two of them.

A little while later Mary sat next to Greg on the couch. "You know if we ever tell anything of what we learned today outside these walls, our bodies won't be found."

Lestrade nodded. "I might have slight chances of survival, but you should really warn your husband."

Both looked at each other with grave expressions. Mycroft who OF COURSE overheard shot daggers at them with his eyes until Mary and Greg burst out giggling.  
*

Greg’s gift for Violet included a CD of modern pop interpretations of Christmas songs. Violet immediately beamed and put it into the stereo and on a loop. John and Siger both found themselves humming along. Mary wasn’t really a fan of Mariah Carey but had learned ages ago to tune out annoying background noises. When they entered the third loop Mycroft was ready to murder his lover. His deliverance arrived in the unlikely form of Sherlock, who ‘accidentally’ knocked the stereo over, causing some serious damage.

Violet was upset and began to scold Sherlock. Gregory shook his head at Sherlock’s behaviour but couldn’t really claim that he was surprised. In the end Sherlock and Mycroft fled outside for a quick smoke while John, Mary, and Greg tried to see if the damage was fixable.

Mycroft for the first time in ages felt real gratefulness towards his brother. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged. "Merry Christmas, I guess."

"I thought you wouldn't get anyone a present?"

"And I even made that one myself."

Both brothers shared a half-smile.  
*

"Oh no, Greg, leave that to Myc and Sherlock - THEY made the mess by themselves, they can clean it up by themselves."  
*

 

When Mycroft opened his present from Gregory he was appalled. He had been vaguely aware of novelty aprons but this...

"That's an ABOMINATION! And it doesn't even have pinstripes. Also I hardly ever wear black."

"It does suit you, though."

"I’ll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Mycroft Holmes, stop complaining and thank Gregory for his funny and practical gift."

Sherlock snickered, seeing his brother this close to exploding. Mary raised her teacup in a mock toast "to aprons!" while John shot her a half-loving, half-dirty look.

Mycroft reigned in his temper just so and put on his 'diplomat' persona. "Thank you, Gregory for this practical and funny gift."

Greg grinned "You're welcome." He leaned in for a kiss and whispered "And if you wear nothing but the apron later, you might get your real present. That one I wouldn't want you to unpack in front of your mother."  
*

Mycroft’s gifts for everyone were lovely, tasteful, and overall very expensive. When Sherlock opened his box to find a beautiful violin case with a bundle of high quality maintenance supplies inside, his eyes widened for a moment before tossing it aside with a deliberately dismissive “How practical.”

Mycroft smiled warmly taking Sherlock’s words for what they were. “You’re very welcome, brother-mine.”

Opening her husband’s gift Violet Holmes smiled and thanked him for his thoughtful pick of a hardcover edition of “The Man Who Loved Numbers”. When hugging him, she looked over his shoulder at Mycroft and mouthed a silent “thank you”.

When Mycroft opened the gifts he had received before today, he found a very ugly china British Bulldog, mirroring the one he knew to sit on the gifter’s desk. Greg was surprised to not see his lover’s face distort in disgust but instead show a genuine smile. He guessed there were some things about his lover he would never quite get. The other package turned out to be a beautiful antique chess set with ivory and ebony pieces, if he had to guess he would say it was cut in 1895.

“It’s a pity the black knights are missing.” Mary commented.

“Not really.” Mycroft said. “It’s deliberate and I’m sure I could get them if I ever wanted.”

John furrowed his brow. “OK, why are the black knights missing?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Because Mycroft prefers to play black. He always was more comfortable analysing an opponent’s move before using it to destroy them.”

“And the pieces are missing because…? I mean come on guys, don’t forget that a few of us are a bit slow.”

Mycroft pursed his lips at Gregory’s words. “Really there is no need to sell yourself short.”

Mary grinned. “I guess this just means that a certain old friend has more of a sense of humour than most would assume.”  
*

“You know what I consider the greatest Christmas miracle this year?”

Mycroft looked at Gregory in the darkness of his parent’s guestroom. It was almost completely dark and although he had pretty good night vision he could make out almost nothing of the beloved features.

“What?”

“Despite all your moaning and grumpiness, you never said ‘humbug’ even once.”


End file.
